People don't notice whether it's winter or summer when they're happy.

People don't notice whether it's winter or summer when they're happy.

I grew up in New Hampshire. My closest neighbor was a mile away. The deer and the raccoons were my read more

I grew up in New Hampshire. My closest neighbor was a mile away. The deer and the raccoons were my friends. So I would spend time walking through the woods, looking for the most beautiful tropical thing that can survive the winter in the woods in New Hampshire.

Winter is icumen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm,
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
And how read more

Winter is icumen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm,
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
And how the wind doth ramm!
Sing: Goddamm.

Winter is not a season, it's an occupation.

Winter is not a season, it's an occupation.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will read more

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

Up rose the wild old winter-king,
And shook his beard of snow;
"I hear the first young read more

Up rose the wild old winter-king,
And shook his beard of snow;
"I hear the first young hard-bell ring,
'Tis time for me to go!
Northward o'er the icy rocks,
Northward o'er the sea,
My daughter comes with sunny locks:
This land's too warm for me!"

Come, see the north-wind's masonry,
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
read more

Come, see the north-wind's masonry,
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he
For number or proportion.

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems read more

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.

Every mile is two in winter.

Every mile is two in winter.